


october midnight

by skuls



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, mulder's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: October 13, 2018; Mulder's birthday.





	october midnight

The baby is crying.

It's still an unfamiliar sound, even in the couple of weeks the baby has been home, and it takes a few minutes for Mulder to register what's going on. He rolls over and gets to his feet automatically, to go and check on the baby, but he pauses when he sees the empty side of the bed. Scully's not there, and a quick glimpse shows that she is not in the bathroom, either. 

Instinctive, misplaced worry courses through him, even as he pads over to the crib and scoops up his daughter to try and soothe her, but the door swings open as soon as he turns around, and Scully enters with a plastic bag of what looks like leftovers dangling from one hand. “Hey,” says Mulder, relief washing over him. It's silly, but he still gets a little panicked when he wakes up without her. 

“Hey,” Scully says softly. Her voice is tired, exhausted, but the way she's looking at them speaks volumes. She comes over to the bed as Mulder shushes the baby, bouncing her in that gentle, tentative way that he's been trying to perfect since they brought her home. He sits on the bed, leaning back against the pillow and rocking her back and forth. Scully sets the bag on the bedside table and climbs up beside him on the bed. 

“She's grouchy tonight,” Mulder says softly, brushing a kiss over the baby's forehead, touching her little nose. “Did you bring a bottle up in that bag? I can feed her if you wanna go back to sleep.”

“No, it's okay. I've got her.” Scully leans into his side sleepily, grabbing the baby's little socked foot in her hand, tickling the bottom of it. She sets a pillow in her lap and takes the baby, pulling at the buttons of her shirt. 

Mulder leans close to kiss the top of her head, rubbing her shoulder. “I'll take her back, honey,” he whispers. “You should get some sleep.”

“I should,” she says dryly, leaning into him a little. “My schedule's all out of whack, Mulder. I'll be exhausted in an hour or two, but right now, I can't sleep.”

He kisses her head again, reaches down to stroke the baby's downy head. “You should take a nap tomorrow,” he says seriously—he’s had a front row seat to her sleep deprivation, and he feels horrible about it. “ _ Two  _ naps. Three.” 

“Mmm, I can't tomorrow.” Scully covers his hand with hers, stroking a thumb over the baby's forehead. “Or today. It's after midnight.” 

He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Why not tomorrow?”

She looks up at him, her eyes sly and soft. “It's too important,” she whispers, her cheek against his shoulder. 

“Why is it—” he starts, and then he remembers. Nearly weeks ago, his daughter was born. Which would make tomorrow—or today—October 13. 

“Oh,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I'd forgotten all about that.”

“You have an awfully specific memory gap when it comes to birthdays,” Scully chuckles softly, stroking the baby's head with her thumb. 

“I remember the important ones,” says Mulder, letting their daughter catch his finger in her little fist. “Yours, and hers. Jackson's.”

“Mmm.” Her head nestles against his shoulder. “Yours is important too, Mulder.”

“Thank you.” He kisses the top of her nose, the baby's forehead. “But we don't need to do anything extravagant, Scully. I've got everything I need right here.”

“You're sweet,” she whispers. She keeps one hand on the baby, gentle, and reaches for the bag on the bedside table. “I did get you something, though.” 

Mulder takes the bag and sets it in his lap, pulling aside the bag to reveal a Styrofoam container. Inside is two slices of cake, the cake they got at his birthday last year, the cake they liked so much that they took home slices to eat later, and then ended up eating on the couch that night, tipsy and giggling, cake smeared on their faces like newlyweds. He chuckles a little in surprise, softly, trying not to disturb the baby. “How did you get this?” he whispers; they haven't left the house in days. 

“I sent Jackson,” Scully says, not without humor in her voice. “There's more downstairs for later. I just thought that this might be nice, as long as we have to get up with her.”

He feels oddly like crying for a moment, his chest tight with affection for her, with love. He kisses her forehead gently, whispers, “Thank you,” into her hair, his hand gripping a handful of her shirt almost desperately.

Scully laughs a little, tips her head up to kiss him. “It's just cake, Mulder,” she whispers. 

He shakes his head, leans his forehead against hers. “It's so much more than that,” he says. He kisses her forehead again, strokes hair behind her ear and settles back against her. “Love you,” he murmurs, reaching down to touch the baby's hand again. She's very nearly asleep, snuggled softly against her mother.

Her head is heavy against his shoulder, the baby finished eating, quiet and warm in her arms. “Love you,” she murmurs back. 

Mulder takes the baby back as Scully rebuttons her shirt, kisses her little hand softly and cradles her against his shoulder. She stays asleep, mercifully. Scully kisses the baby goodnight softly before he takes her back to the crib. 

When he climbs back on the bed, Scully curls up against him, wraps the comforter around them tightly. A sudden cold snap has come into town, and she is nearly always freezing. She's nearly in his lap, pressed against him like he's the only source of warmth in the room. She grabs the Styrofoam container and places it in their laps, hands him a plastic fork.  

They dig into his birthday cake together, forks scraping sloppily against the Styrofoam, trying to be quiet so as not to wake the baby.


End file.
